


something like home

by rainingover



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Melancholy, Pining, Sadness, Yanjun misses Zhangjing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainingover/pseuds/rainingover
Summary: Yanjun places fifth in the Idol Producer final line-up, Zhangjing places tenth, and Yanjun misses seeing Zhangjing every day more than he could ever have imagined he would.





	something like home

**Author's Note:**

> it is a known fact that in another universe somewhere every single combination of IP trainees made it to the final nine. this is just one of them ;) 
> 
> thank you to ash & r for cheering me on throughout me writing this :3

When Bi Wenjun’s name is called and Nine Percent’s ninth and final spot is confirmed, Yanjun’s heart stops, and then it immediately plummets deep into the pit of his stomach.

He would be lying if he said he’d been expecting this: for him to be sitting up there, watching ninth place being called from the chair with a number five printed on it. _Five_. Higher ranked than Zhengting, and Ziyi, and Linkai. If he had dared to imagine himself up there at all it was in the ninth spot, the eighth at a push, maybe, if he’d had a lot of screen time in the episode before.

It was never fifth place, and it was _never_ without Zhangjing.

And yet, here he is: watching as Wenjun walks towards the podium to make his speech, except he isn’t watching, not really. He can see the scene unfold somewhere in front of him, hazy and unclear, but his eyes are focused elsewhere, behind the main event, as the eleven trainees who won’t be making their way up the steps crowd each other, hugging and patting each other on the back with smiles of camaraderie. Chaoze hugs Zhangjing tightly at the front of them all and all that Yanjun can think is, _this can’t be real._ But, it is.

He will debut in the project group. Four months of sleepless nights, sore limbs and sheer determination paying off in this very moment because he’s _made_ it. Yanjun has made it and it should feel good. It should feel better than good - it should feel amazing, like nothing else on earth. It should feel like being swept away in a whirlwind of pure happiness. And, maybe, deep down inside him somewhere, there’s an edge of that, but on the surface he feels like he’s breaking into a thousand tiny pieces, his bones shattering into indescribably small splinters that fall to the floor below him and bounce down the tiered steps, impossible to put back together again.

Zhangjing’s face is buried in the crook of someone else’s neck across the stage, and Wenjun is making his way up the steps, handsome smile growing wider as Zhengting pulls him into an excited embrace, and it’s all _wrong._

Yanjun realises he’s been clapping mindlessly, his palms burning, his smile plastered into place. He hugs Wenjun, pats his back the way he watched Linkai do across the aisle, going along with the motions like he’s been pre-programmed to do them and he isn’t in control at all, and wonders if he’s slipped into another universe in which he doesn’t really belong.

 

 

 

 

 

Linong is speaking excitedly, his voice loud and animated and his smile more real than Yanjun has seen in two months. Yanjun catches the gist of his chatter - it’s something about how incredible this all is, about how much he’s looking forward to going to Los Angeles even though he’s going to have to practise his dance extra hard. Yanjun nods and smiles, agreeing blindly with everything Linong says until someone slides in between them and throws their arms around Linong in congratulations, and Yanjun gets the chance to breathe.

Dinghao and Chaoze find him next, and they pull him into a hug, both of them buzzing with excitement - Chaoze is still disappointed, Yanjun knows he will be for a while (they all will be, the ones who didn’t make it, _Zhangjing)_ but he’s grinning ear to ear anyway and telling Yanjun how much of a megastar he’s going to be, and Yanjun suddenly feels like he’s stolen a spot in the group that he doesn’t deserve, because _he_ should be grinning from ear to ear too. He should be buzzing with the excitement of what’s to come, he should be thinking about Los Angeles. He really, really, should.

But all that he can think about is Zhangjing, and how he doesn’t want to go anywhere without him, which is stupid. Yanjun _knows_ it’s stupid, and it’s selfish, and he’s confused, because everything he’s wanted for the last four months is this, except now it’s here, he isn’t sure he wants it at all.

He just wants to speak to Zhangjing.

“Where is he?” Yanjun pulls back from Dinghao’s hug and looks between him and Chaoze.

“What?” Chaoze looks confused and it’s probably because Yanjun has ignored every kind word he and Dinghao have just showered him with. He feels bad and he hopes that his friends will chalk it up to shock. Which, maybe that’s what this is after all: the worry, the pain in his chest. Maybe this is all just shock from the happy news.

Maybe.

“Zhangjing,” he repeats, louder this time. “Have either of you -- is he around here?” He looks around, but there are so many bodies in identical blazers swarming around them that he can hardly tell anyone apart. He feels a little like he’s drowning in a sea of grey.  

When he stops glancing around, he realises that Chaoze is just staring at him. “Are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m great,” Yanjun says, and the lie comes out so easily that he almost believes it himself.

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t see Zhangjing until the live show ends, and even then it’s only for a few minutes.

It’s a relief, to be honest, when Yanjun spots him talking to Yanchen at the edge of the stage. It looks like they’re swapping phone numbers or something, and Yanjun thinks about all the friends they’ve made and all the numbers he hasn’t bothered getting because he hasn’t needed to, because Zhangjing has them, so Yanjun’s just taken for granted that by extension he has them if he needs them too.

Over the last few months it’s become increasingly easier and easier to forget they’re two separate people at all.

Yanjun waits until Yanchen heads back over to where Zeren is waiting before he walks over and stands beside Zhangjing. It feels good to be in Zhangjing’s orbit again, like he should be. He places a hand on the small of his friend’s back and says, “You Zhangjing, are you avoiding me?”

It’s a joke, just something silly, the sort of thing he says when Zhangjing is late to practise or dinner, or when he’s been in the bathroom for more than fifteen minutes, but now and here it doesn’t sound silly, it sounds accusatory.

It’s the wrong thing to say, Yanjun realises, when Zhangjing’s face contorts into a sad sort of smile that it pains him to see. “I thought I’d let everyone take their turn to congratulate you first.” Zhangjing looks up at him. “You really made it.”

His cheeks are flushed and he’s been crying, just like most of them have been. His hair is ruffled at the back, likely from countless fond hands running over the back of it. Everyone is fond of Zhangjing and sometimes it irks Yanjun to see all of the skinship he initiates with people who aren’t him. He’s never considered himself a possessive friend, but maybe that’s another of his bad points after all. Yanjun lifts his hand from Zhangjing’s back and pats his hair down into place.

“I made it,” he repeats. “I’m sorry,” he adds, a whisper that barely leaves his lips. “You-- you’re--”

Zhangjing shakes his head quickly. His gaze intense, pleading with Yanjun to stop talking.

“I’m proud of you, Lin Yanjun. You deserve this so much,” he says, and then he shifts so he’s that standing closer, in front of Yanjun and slides his arms around his waist oh so effortlessly. It’s always effortless with Zhangjing.

“Did I look okay?” Yanjun asks. “During my speech and-- and afterwards? Was it very ugly when I cried?”

“You looked handsome.” Zhangjing looks up at him, eyes soft but unreadable. “More than ever, even when you cried.”

“You’re a liar,” Yanjun says. A smile plays upon his lips. It’s impossible not to smile when Zhangjing is looking at you, it’s impossible not to feel overwhelming fondness and ease. Right now, with his hand on Zhangjing’s waist, the noise of the event far away behind them, Yanjun feels it bubbling under the surface of his skin, the happiness that he knows he should be enveloped in. “I’m going to see photos online tomorrow. Ugly, red-eyed photos of myself and then I’ll know you’ve been lying to me all of this time.”

Zhangjing laughs as he shakes his head, though there are tears at the corners of his eyes too, threatening to fall. “It’s so unfair,” Yanjun whispers. “You were meant to-”

He stops again, because Zhangjing doesn’t need to hear this. He doesn’t _want_ to hear this, Yanjun can tell. Even if it’s true, so true, to Yanjun. Zhangjing has as much talent in his little finger than Yanjun thinks he himself might have in his entire being.

“It is fair,” Zhangjing replies. “What is meant to be is meant to be. And I’m still meant to be a singer, so I’m going to be fine.”

Yanjun nods and tries to take Zhangjing’s words to heart. He hopes he looks convincing, and maybe he does a good job of it, because Zhangjing straightens up then, pulling Yanjun closer as he does so. He’s taller all of a sudden - probably standing on the very tip of his toes now, Yanun thinks - and then he whispers into Yanjun’s ear, “Don’t you dare forget about me or I’ll post all of the terrible photos I have of you sleeping on all of my social media accounts.”

“Forget about who?” Yanjun whispers back, and if Zhangjing punches him softly with his free hand, he hardly feels it.

It’s funny, because it almost feels like his five minutes with Zhangjing revives him, and when he is dragged away for press and interviews and photos before he’s allowed to go back to the dorms for the final night, he feels better - lighter and focused, _good_ even.

Ziyi says, “Congrats, bro,” after they take off their mic packs backstage, and pulls him into a hug, and for the first time that night Yanjun really allows it to sink in that he’s made it to the top nine.

He messages Zhangjing before he sleeps, _You know I have bad photos of you asleep too, right?_ And when he dreams it’s of Zhang Yixing announcing endless lists of names he doesn’t recognise while Zhangjing stands blank faced in the background.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun has never been a great flier. Being in an enclosed space so high up for countless hours is just unpleasant. Plus, landing and take-off are usually a series of nervous moments in which he’s sure the wing of the plane looks like it might be about to fall away.

On the flight to LA, he sleeps and then he eats, and he sleeps some more, but he can’t shake off the tiredness that he feels as he watches the tiny picture of an aeroplane move across the live map of the globe on the screen fitted into the seat in front of him.

The screen refreshes and the little aeroplane moves closer and closer to LAX. It feels like it isn’t really happening, like this is some sort of simulation, but it isn’t: Yanjun is really flying above the clouds and he’s really a member of Nine Percent, and he still can’t quite figure out why he hasn’t felt completely ecstatic in the way he always imagined he would.

If Zhangjing was here, he’d distract himself with finding new ways to make him shriek with laughter, but Zhangjing isn’t here, so he puts his headphones on and scrolls through music videos and fan-made compilation videos of the Lakers greatest moments from the 2002 season set to music that doesn’t fit with the scenes, and hopes that when he looks back up at the screen, the tiny aeroplane on it will be somewhere over California.

He hasn’t slept properly for weeks, which isn’t a surprise exactly, because the competition had been intense and the aftermath has been a rush of adrenaline, and fear and excitement for all nine of them, but even sheer exhaustion doesn’t seem to allow him more than two hours sleep at a time.

Yanjun thinks that it might be to do with the fact that, since the finale, he’s thought about Zhangjing more than he ever knew it could be possible to have another person occupy his mind.

He feels waterlogged - like confusion and dissatisfaction has washed up in his chest and is refusing to dry out, and when he lies in bed at the new dorm, Linong snoring softly across the room, he thinks about Zhangjing. Thinks, _why us and not him?_

He tries as hard as he can to make sense of it all, but he’s too tired to think straight, because it’s two am or five am or suddenly it’s seven, and it’s light outside, and he’s expected to be in the practice studio in less than thirty minutes, so he just accepts that this new weirdness is part of his life now, and puts on a pair of sunglasses to hide his tired eyes.

He’s grateful for Linong. Linong is his seat partner on the flight and he’s left Yanjun alone for most of the journey - sliding out of their row and next to Linkai, or with the Yuehua guys when he wants to chat. Yanjun feels bad for being terrible company, but not enough to do anything about it. Linong is sitting in his own seat now, though, and he nudges Yanjun until he pauses the video he isn’t really watching and looks up from his phone and then says, “When we land, I hope we get to go out for dinner.”

It’s a nothing comment, Linong probably isn’t hungry, not really. They’ve eaten on the flight, and their bodies are confused and their minds are tired, and Yanjun doubts they’ll want to do anything but shower and lie down on a real bed when they land, but he appreciates Linong’s attempt to bring him out of his daze.

Yanjun knows from sharing a room with him for over four months that Linong is an astute person; that despite the fact he sometimes gets lost in his own head, overthinking what the people around him perceive him as, he’s always aware of others, and Yanjun would be stupid to think that Linong hasn’t realised that he isn’t focused anymore. In fact, he’s never felt less focused in his life despite his pending debut.

“If not we can get room service, I guess,” Yanjun replies. “Or find a convenience store. There’ll be a seven-eleven near the hotel, there usually is.”

Linong nods. “Whatever we do, we’ll have to take photos of our first meal in LA,” he says.

“Why do we have to photograph it?” Yanjun smiles, it’s a funny comment and it reminds him of something someone else would say, he just can’t quite think who right now as the clouds in his brain fog up his thoughts.

“To send to You Zhangjing, of course.” Linong grins back at him, as if it’s obvious. Maybe it is, maybe Yanjun knew that all along, he just didn’t want to admit he was thinking the exact same thing.

Yanjun closes his eyes and sees Zhangjing’s smile, and when he wakes up again they're about to land in Los Angeles.

Yanjun feels homesick that night, but not for a place.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun pretends there is no correlation between thoughts of Zhangjing and the pain in his chest, but really, if he’s honest, he knows that these things are intertwined, one and the same, just like he and Zhangjing have become recently.

Yanjun has had best friends before. He was popular at school, and he’s always enjoyed being at Banana Culture. Sure, the training regime and the endless rules feel like he’s stuck in some strict boarding school from a kid’s book, but his friends and his teachers are his family nonetheless.  

But families can survive apart, and Yanjun isn’t sure he can survive without Zhangjing anymore, so, it’s different. In what way, he hasn’t quite decided, but it’s different to any other friendship he’s experienced in his life, and even though they call each other best friends, Yanjun doesn’t think that covers it at all.

Zhangjing is his best friend, but he might also be the anchor that stops him from being taken away by the roaring tide. He might be the best thing that ever happened in his life. And he hasn’t seen him since the finale, hasn’t _spoken_ to him since the night of the finale, when Yanjun placed fifth and Zhengjing placed tenth, and the world tipped on its axis and stopped making any sense.

There is definitely a correlation between the aching yearning he feels and the fact that he can’t sense Zhangjing fidgeting on the seat beside him or use stupid chat-up lines on him to make him laugh whenever he pleases, and he’s probably known this for a while, but he also doesn’t want to think about it too hard, so he tries not to.

He fails.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun does not resent Wenjun. That would be pointless, and plain immature. Except, secretly, a small part of him _does_ . And he knows it’s selfish and it’s stupid, and he’s ashamed of it. Wenjun deserves to be there, looking handsome as ever, his eyes sparkling as Zhengting drapes himself over him dramatically while they stand in line for the Harry Potter ride at Universal Studios. Wenjun deserves to be there even more than _he_ does, probably. Yanjun wonders if he himself deserves it at all.

But, the thing is that Wenjun being there means that Zhangjing isn’t, and so Yanjun resents him the smallest amount, even if he feels endlessly guilty for it.

Yanjun feels a lot of guilt, lately.

He fixates on different things, tiny things, that suddenly become enormous mistakes that he’s made. He stands under the hotel room shower, hot water streaming over his shoulders, and it’s probably too hot - maybe it hurts a little, he can’t be sure anymore - and thinks about his fifth place speech.

He thinks about the weeks before the finale, when he’d allowed himself to imagine actually making it to the top in fleeting moments, and thinks about what he’d always planned to say if it happened. He thinks about after the last ranking before the finale, about Zhangjing placing eighth, and about that night afterwards when he promised himself that if he did make it to the top nine he would mention Zhangjing in his speech no matter what. He’d say that he was proud to be joining him in the group, or, if Zhangjing hadn’t been called up yet, he would instead make sure to announce that he would be waiting for Zhangjing to join him. Either way, he was going to have to thank him, how could he not?

You Zhangjing: his more-than-best-friend.

Yanjun holds his breath, water running over his hair and onto his face, and thinks, _I forgot him. I forgot to mention him and now he isn’t here._ Maybe, he wonders, maybe this is his fault, in some way. Maybe things would have gone differently that night if he’d made a different choice somewhere along the way. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, nothing is making much sense for Yanjun at the moment.

The shower is hot, and his mind is fuzzy, and Yanjun’s shoulders feel ever more tense. He thinks about what Zhangjing had said to him with watery eyes and a comforting smile after the result - that what was meant to be would be, or something like that - and anger rises in his chest, because what is meant to be is Zhangjing _here_ , with him. What is meant to be is Zhangjing sleeping on the bed next to his, Zhangjing waiting to use the bathroom and moaning at him for taking so long, pulling faces and saying, “I _do not_ want to know what you get upto in that shower for so long,” while Yanjun just rolls his eyes and laughs.

But, apparently, it’s only Yanjun that sees it that way, and it frustrates him that he can’t just accept that they’re apart. It shouldn’t be this unsettling, he thinks. Friends spend time apart, friends don’t need to be near each other every single day, even the best of them.

Linong knocks on the bathroom door and calls his name, and when Yanjun turns off the water he realises that he didn’t even wash the shampoo out of his hair.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun stands outside of the hotel, just outside the doors to the lobby, and looks at the blank screen of his locked phone. The others are still eating inside and he’d like to walk, really - to move, to feel something - but he isn’t allowed any further on his own. The staff looked at him strangely as he made his excuses to step outside after he finished his food, as if he’s a kid trying to sneak out of his bedroom window and not just a tired young man who wants to stand on his own and clear his head.

And Yanjun _knows_ that they only care about him. He’s been acting weirdly; Linong has mentioned it, kindly, twice already that day, and Zhengting had even dragged himself away from Wenjun to offer Yanjun a snack or a drink of water more than once during rehearsal, his role of carer extending beyond the Yuehua boys as usual. Yanjun can tell that they’re only trying to figure him out, but _he’s_ trying to figure himself out too, and he just wants five damn minutes to shake off the frustration he feels.

It’s around lunch time back home and, if they were back at the company together, Zhangjing would probably be making him laugh with wild guesses at what kind of bland diet meal he’s about to be served for his lunch. But he isn’t back at the company. He’s in Los Angeles, where he’s just finished a steak that cost a stupid amount of dollars - a celebration of sorts, because they had nailed another routine today at the dance studio (and that’s exactly how the teacher had described it, “You’ve nailed it, guys,” he’d grinned, and Yanjun had felt proud of them all), and he should be thinking about tomorrow, he _should_ be feeling on top of the world.

Except, the longing is always there, and the guilt with it, and he feels like he’s falling from the very top of a great mountain, with no ground in sight to break his fall.

When Zhangjing answers the phone it’s with an amusingly accusatory tone. “I hope you haven’t called me to boast about eating steak, Lin Yanjun,” he says.

“How do you know about that?”

“It’s all over our Nongnong’s social media. And I can see fries on the plate too!” He laughs. “I would kill for some fries right now.”

Yanjun laughs too, though it feels hollow. “The fries were good,” he says. He’s lying, he can’t remember what they tasted like, he’s having trouble focusing on any of his senses. The night air is warm against his bare arms. He wishes Zhangjing was here again.

“So, how amazing is it?” Zhangjing asks him. “Are you having the best time of your life?”

Yanjun lies. “Yes.”

Zhangjing seems to know something’s up. Of course he does, Yanjun thinks, he’s the person who knows him best. “Lin Yanjun…”

Yanjun says, “Honestly? I’m not in the best mood. I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“Ah, Lin Yanjun can't sleep without me.” Zhangjing laughs, because it’s a joke to him, of course it is. It’s not funny, though, because it’s true. There is a noise behind him, someone calling his name, and Zhangjing has to stop laughing and say, “I really want to hear about everything, but I’m being called and if I’m late for lunch I’ll be in trouble. Can we-- we will talk again soon, won’t we?” He sounds worried, and Yanjun realises he’s worried Zhangjing and now he probably won’t enjoy his lunch, and Yanjun feels equal parts guilty about it and weirdly pleased that he’ll be on Zhangjing’s mind.

“Of course we can,” Yanjun replies. He hopes the disappointment isn’t too evident in his voice. “Go on, you go eat and pretend it’s steak.”

“I will!” Zhangjing says. He pauses before adding, “Miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Yanjun replies, but the phone has already gone dead.

Yanjun thinks about Zhangjing’s quip that night, mulls it over and wonders why it makes him feel like he’s drowning. Maybe it’s true - maybe if Zhangjing was there, he’d be better. He’d be okay, and he’d be able to sleep, and focus, and feel overwhelmed with the happiness of his success.

They had slept in different rooms during most of their time in the competition, but it still felt like they were together twenty-four-seven because if one of them - or any of their friends - needed company, the other would magically appear. Plus, the trainees often swapped beds, depending on who they were practising with and until what time, or depending on who was feeling ill. Zhangjing had made Yanjun sleep in his bunk, under the blankets from his home that he took everywhere with him, on more than one occasion over the last few months, and Yanjun hadn’t minded it at all.

Part of Yanjun has convinced himself that those are the nights on which he slept most soundly - even the night after they had all filmed for the ghost prank, Zhangjing muttering under his breath about how terrifying it was, and how cruel a man Yanjun must be to tell such blatant lies about what he had been about to endure earlier that evening. Yanjun had listened to Zhangjing’s scolding, lying next to him on the bottom bunk, until Zhangjing had run out of steam and had finished with, “And I can’t believe you seduced the ghost jiejie.”

“What can I say?” Yanjun had grinned, turning his head to face Zhangjing on the pillow.  “There isn’t any being - mortal or otherwise - who is immune to my charms. Even ghosts fall in love with me.”

“What is even charming about _you_?” Zhangjing had pulled a face, his nose scrunched up in distaste.  

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Yanjun had said. “Why don’t you tell me… Go on, tell me your top three charming things about Lin Yanjun.”

And Zhangjing had actually contemplated it, had lifted his hands out of the blankets as if he was about to start counting on his fingers, his lips now pursed into a line of concentration. Adorable.

Yanjun had laughed, then, and Zhangjing had faltered, had stuttered, “Wait, why am I going along with this? Stop leading me into embarrassing things,” his cheeks pink.

It had made Yanjun laugh even more, he remembers. But more than that, it had made him _happy_. It’s funny to think of it now, because he always thought it that making the top nine would make him happiest, that being recognised for his talent and devotion would be the happiest moment he could ever imagine. So, when it had happened, and it hadn’t lived up to his expectations, he hadn’t been able to understand why. But he understands now, lying awake in the hotel, listening to the shower dripping in the ensuite bathroom, because, for a long time now, his visions of success - the happiness he thought he longed for - always included a short vocal with curly hair and bright eyes.

Debut isn't making him instantly ten times happier, he realises, because that role in his life has already been taken by You Zhangjing. _Zhangjing_ makes him happy. He should be here, whispering about their dinner and how perfectly cooked the steak had been. He should be here, giggling joyfully about the way the waitress had smiled so widely when Xukun had thanked her in English.

He isn't here, though. He is thousands and thousands of miles away, eating diet meals he doesn't like and getting on with pursuing his own dreams, and Yanjun dwelling on things that weren't meant to be won’t change that.

Yanjun sleeps badly, and when he wakes up the next morning it's to a text from Zhangjing that reads, _I know I'm the last thing on your mind right now but call me soon so we can talk more!_

The longing engulfs Yanjun in a tidal wave until long after he’s finished his breakfast.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun sits in the back of van and watches the world pass by through the window; every colour blurring, every shape morphing into another. Nothing outside of the window looks real.

They’re on the way back to the hotel on their second-to-last day in America and his mind is on the moves for Mack Daddy (because he’s trying, really he is, not to spend every hour of every day wondering what Zhangjing genuinely thinks of him and why it matters) when Xukun places a hand over his knee and says, “Are you okay?”

“What?” Yanjun turns his head. “I’m-- yeah, of course I am.”

Xukun doesn’t remove his hand. He tilts his head and says, “You haven't smiled in days.” He keeps his voice low so their driver doesn’t hear, and Yanjun appreciates Xukun’s thoughtfulness. He makes a good leader, he really does.

“I haven't?” Yanjun shrugs and sets a small smile onto his face. “I guess it's just what my cold resting face looks like,” he replies and punctuates the sentence with a wink.

Xukun just stares at him, like he doesn’t believe a word.

“And… Also, maybe I'm getting sick?” Yanjun tries, but it sounds like a lie as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“It's normal to miss the people you--  Uh, the people you’re close to.” Xukun clears his throat. Ziyi watches them in the rear-view mirror from the front passenger seat of the car next to their driver.

Yanjun opens his mouth, but doesn’t bother to say anything.

“But this--” Xukun continues and gestures towards Yanjun, “--is the last thing he would want. Aside from singing, that guy lives to see you happy.”

Yanjun blinks. “What guy?” He says, as if he doesn’t know.

Ziyi - composed, serene Ziyi - actually _snorts_ , and Xukun throws him a sharp look, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Ziyi averts his eyes then and Yanjun sighs and says, “It's just been an intense few weeks. I'll snap out of it, I promise.”

For the rest of the journey, Yanjun considers Xukun’s words - the ones he had said, and the unspoken ones too: the name Xukun never mentioned but was obvious and the way that his tongue had slipped between his teeth, the word _love_ on it before he'd changed his phrasing and gone for _close to_.

Mostly he thinks about the silent conversation between Ziyi and Xukun that they had continued to have via glances in the mirror the rest of the way to the hotel. He wonders why they think he loves Zhangjing, confusion laced with panic coursing through his blood.

The question seems more laughable the more he thinks about it, because if he is honest with himself he knows why. It’s because he does. He loves Zhangjing and Zhangjing isn't here.

Yanjun tries out a smile for Ziyi over dinner and if he can tell it is forced he doesn't admit it. Yanjun could almost hug him for it.

 

 

 

 

 

When they return to China, ready for their first fan-meets, it is with an air of trepidation mixed with excitement.

Yanjun unpacks his laundry onto the living room floor the next day while Linkai runs in circles around the dorm, his energy flowing into everyone he passes. Xukun taps his fingers against the kitchen worktop as he leans against it, watching a video of their practise on his tablet. Ziyi stands nearby, almost at Xukun’s shoulder and watches silently, with an intensity in his eyes that impresses Yanjun almost as much as Linkai’s ability to be so alive after a thirteen hour flight and four hours sleep.

Wenjun appears, stretching as he walks out of his and Zhengting’s room and sits down on the other end of the sofa. “Are you hungry?” He asks.

It takes Yanjun a moment to realise he’s talking to him. “Uh--”

Chengcheng narrowly misses walking into Linkai, skidding into the living room in his socks. “I am!” He calls, before Yanjun can answer. He’s grinning ear to ear. “I’m hungry. Are you treating us to food, Wenjun?”

“No.” Wenjun chuckles, he’s clearly used to this. “You can pay for yourself.”

Chengcheng pulls a face, but he gets over it pretty quickly and announces, “We should have cheeseburgers.”

“We’ve just got back from Los Angeles and you want American food?” Justin appears then, too, his hair mussed up, his pyjama pants too short. Yanjun is reminded that he’s still a kid.

Justin presses himself close into Chengcheng’s side, and Yanjun thinks with a pang of jealousy about how close the Yuehua kids are. If Zhangjing was here, then he could be pressed into Yanjun’s side too.

“Are you in?” Wenjun is speaking to him again. “We could just get take out in about an hour and eat it here. We can eat healthier tomorrow,” he adds, for any staff members benefit, even though the cameras are off and the staff aren’t there. It’s just what they’re used to now after cameras in their faces twenty-four-seven.

Yanjun almost says no, because he’s tired, and he’s sad, and he wants to call Zhangjing like he promised he would, but then Justin says, “Of course he’s in!” and that is that.

When the food arrives, Yanjun is grateful for Justin’s decision-making, because he’s hungrier than he realised before, his stomach rumbling as the smell of hot fries wafts through the air. He eats in silence and spares a thought for Zhangjing, surviving on his regulation portions of fish and vegetables. He wonders if Zhangjing guessed what they were serving for lunch today correctly.

“Where are you?” Linong asks him, waving a hand in front of his face until he blinks. “Why isn’t your mind here?”

Yanjun isn’t sure how to respond. Isn’t his mind here? Where is it? ‘Sorry,” he mutters and picks up his burger.

“It’s not his mind that’s elsewhere,” Justin says from across the room, wearing an expression that reads ten years wiser than his age, which is happening more and more often lately. “It’s his _heart_.”

Everyone’s eyes are on him now and Yanjun gets ready to change the subject, deflect everyone’s attention away from his vulnerability, but then Chengcheng is talking through a mouthful of burger, gesturing to the food on the table in front of them. “Your heart can be in multiple places at once,” he says. “For example, mine is in this burger, and in these fries, and it’s also in--” he looks up as Zhengting shrieks in disbelief at his ridiculous friend. “What? It makes sense!”

Yanjun smiles.

He thinks about this exchange later, as he undresses, and then in the shower, and he’s still thinking about it as he towels his wet hair afterwards.  

It’s a stupid analogy, but it’s also exactly the one he needed to hear, because, he realises as he thinks more and more about it, that Chengcheng is right. Maybe his happiness (or his heart or whatever, he needs to think about that properly) _is_ with Zhangjing. But part of it can exist here in the eight faces around him, too. It can be in performing, in the support of his Evanism, in what he’s always dreamed of, as well.

He misses Zhangjing a lot, he really does, and he still can’t quite believe he’s doing this without him. He still feels angry and hurt and despondent for him, because he is certain that Zhangjing deserves this opportunity more than anymore else in the entire world, but Zhangjing himself had told him back on the night of the finale that what is meant to be, is meant to be, and for some inexplicable reason, this is what the universe has bestowed upon them.

That night he sleeps better than he has done in a long while, though not as well as the last time he lay with his chest against Zhangjing’s back, squished together on a bunk made for one. He wakes up with a head that is clear, confusion only ebbing gently at the edges of his mind, and he feels lighter: less guilt, more determination.

Maybe he _would_ be happier with Zhangjing here, maybe he’d be happier and more comfortable and more confident that everything is going to work out perfectly, and maybe Zhangjing deserves this too, but Zhangjing isn’t here, and Nine Percent, debut and opportunity _are_. It’s a stark truth, but one that he thinks Zhangjing would be glad he’s finally realised.

Yanjun refocuses on putting as much of his heart that hasn’t already been stolen by the one with eager eyes, and soft hands, and a mouth that can curse as easily as it can break into song, into being the best idol he can be.

To his surprise, over the next few weeks, it actually starts to come to him more and more easily.

 

 

 

 

 

“You haven’t updated your social media even nearly enough this week,” Zhangjing whines. It’s after Nine Percent’s third official fanmeet, and Yanjun is lying on his bed, phone held above his head as Zhangjing pouts at him over video chat. “What have you been doing? How are the others? I saw high quality fanmeet photos on the internet and you all looked _so_ handsome.”

“All of us?” He asks, the slightest of smirks on his face. He can’t help it.

“Yes, but especially you,” Zhanghing says. He rolls his eyes. “As usual.”

Yanjun grins. “I think we’re getting more and more cohesive every performance,” he says. “Xukun seems really pleased, the managers too. It’s-- it’s going really well.”

Zhanghing stares at him through the screen. “I’m glad, because, well, I guess I’ve been worrying about you. About you seeming… Sad.” He says is quietly, as if he’s testing the word out. There is a crease in his brow that Yanjun would poke gently if Zhangjing were here.

“I was,” he says carefully. “It still doesn’t feel real, that I’m here and you aren’t.”

Zhangjing sighs. “I’m not in the habit of lying to you, Lin Yanjun. I told you I would be okay when the show ended and I _have_ been. I’ve been fine.”

“Well, maybe I haven’t been.” Yanjun closes his eyes. “Is that selfish?”

Zhangjing is quiet on the other end of the line.

Yanjun opens his eyes and says, “Okay, okay. I _know_ it’s selfish.”

“I miss you a lot too, you know,” Zhangjing says, then. “And it isn’t the same without you here, and yes I’m a little jealous sometimes, but… I want the world to see how special you are, and you can’t do that if you’re doing this… This stoic, manly, guilt thing.”

Yanjun laughs. “But don’t I look good with a serious expression, like an ice prince?” He pulls his best cold stare and enjoys the way that Zhangjing blows out his cheeks in annoyance.

“You do,” Zhangjing admits, and then he smiles, “But I like it most when you’re happy.”

Yanjun kind of wants to cry, but for once it isn’t out of frustration or overwhelming emotions that he can’t quite get a hold on. He wants to cry because he’s so damn _lucky_ \- lucky to be here, to have this chance and to have someone as special as You Zhangjing supporting him every step of the way.

“I am happy, I promise,” he says, and he means it this time. It feels good to know that.

“See you soon, Prince Charming.” Zhangjing smiles. His face is pixelated, his connection isn’t great and the screen freezes after that, but still, he looks beautiful.

The line drops, and Yanjun is alone again, but Zhangjing’s goodbye stays with him until he falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun feels strangely nervous walking into a place he knows inside out. It’s been a long time since he spent more than an hour or two at the Banana Culture building, but it still feels familiar in a way he hadn’t expected it to. It still feels like somewhere he belongs, and that fills him with pride.

There’ll be a meeting today about what’s in store for the trainees, and while Yanjun won’t be able to partake in a lot of the schedules and sessions, he’s glad that he is still part of it all to an extent. When he enters, the staff greet him with proud smiles, and Yanjun bows his head and waves off their compliments, but they do feel good.

Honglin almost tackles him against the wall into a bear-hug when he sees him, and Chaoze proclaims that “The number one visual has come to bless our eyes,” with a tongue in cheek grin, joining them before they go to sit down for the meeting. The others follow into the meeting room, too, and Yanjun takes their teasing jokes and throws some back at them - it's just like they’ve always been, picking up where they all left off.

When Zhangjing slips into the seat next to him, last into the room, Yanjun realises that everyone else has left it empty, as if it was obvious they’d want to sit together. Zhangjing picks at the tiny stain on his sweater sleeve, probably a remnant from dinner, and smiles up at Yanjun with bright eyes. His cheeks look slimmer than Yanjun remembers and he frowns a little, leaning into say, “You’ve lost weight.”

“Of course I have, they’re practically starving me,” Zhangjing stage-whispers back dramatically. “And you’re the only one who would ever help me hide snacks round here. Still, it means I have amazingly realistic dreams about eating nasi lemak most nights.”

Yanjun laughs.

“What are you two whispering about?” Dinghao asks from the other end of the table.

“If we told you we’d have to kill you,” Yanjun says with a grin, and Zhangjing juts out his chin and says, “And it won’t be a quick death,” but then he ruins the effect with a giggle. Dinghao just rolls his eyes at them as the staff enter the room and shut the door behind them, ready to begin.

Yanjun tries not to glance at Zhangjing too often during the meeting, but it’s hard not to, because time together feels like a precious commodity now, and the meeting will be over in an hour, so he needs to soak in as much of Zhangjing as he can while he’s here.

“It was good to see you.” Yanjun is pulled into a loose hug by Zhangjing when the meeting ends. From the doorway, Honglin smiles back at them. “Even if it was short and sweet.”

 _Short and sweet._ Yanjun smirks. “Just like-”

“Don’t you dare say my name!” Zhangjing’s jab lands half-heartedly between Yanjun’s ribs. He puts his hands up in defence and laughs.

“I was going to say Chaoze,” he lies. “You’re not sweet, you’re mean!” He swerves to avoid Zhangjing’s grasp.

“Tell Xukun and Wenjun I said they’re more handsome than you are when you get back to your dorm.” Zhangjing laughs as he shakes Yanjun’s arm. “They’re my favourites!”

“Tell them yourself, I know you still message them all,” Yanjun says. “And I thought _I_ was your favourite.”

“I have lots of favourites,” Zhangjing points out, stepping back. His skin is flushed and his smile is all teeth and gum, and he looks _radiant_. Yanjun’s heart skips a beat. “You’re… You’re Lin Yanjun. It’s different.”

“Different how?” Yanjun says. He pretends not to know what Zhangjing is saying, but he does, because it’s mirrored in the way Yanjun sees him. His more-than-best-friend, the one who holds a part of his heart.

He doesn’t get a serious answer, and it makes him wonder as he rides the taxi back to Nine Percent’s dorm - could it be that _he_ is Zhangjing’s happiness too?

Linong waves at him from the living room as he gets back to the dorm. “How was your meeting?” He calls. “What did they say? Come tell us!”

Yanjun kind of just wants to retreat to his room to overthink Zhangjing’s words, but he knows that it will do no good, so he joins the others, who are all squashed into the living room, a mound of sweatpants and headbands, and sheet-masks that show only their eyes. He almost feels bad for interrupting the sleepy, harmonious, vibe in the dorm, but the way that Ziyi makes space and Linong pulls him into the fold by his wrist makes him realise that _he_ is one of them, he always has been, he’s just been too distracted by the storm in his own head to really appreciate it.

“It was good.” Yanjun sits down next to Linong. “The company have some cool things in store. I might get to go back and record with them at some point soon.”

Linong nods and smiles. “And how is our You Zhangjing?”

“He’s good, too,” Yanjun says. “Oh, he said to tell Xukun how handsome he is,” he gestures to their group leader. He adds, “And Wenjun,” even though he feels a weird bout of jealousy over it.

Xukun pokes at his cheek and flashes a smile. Justin says, “And Justin, he said Justin too, right?”

“Not everything is about your face, Huang Minghao,” Zhengting scolds. His sheet-mask moves around his mouth. “And, anyway, I don’t think it matters whose names he dropped, the comment clearly wasn’t meant for _our_ benefits.”

He notices Xukun and Ziyi both smiling at Zhengting’s comment, and as Justin huffs out a petulant little breath against Wenjun’s shoulder, Yanjun wonders why he feels like he’s missed the punchline of a joke.

 

 

 

 

 

Zhangjing messages him a video from the recording studio on the day he records for his solo OST song with the caption _Beyoncé: watch out._

He follows it up with a message that says, _Joking of course! No one even comes close to her,_ and includes three crown emojis.

Yanjun calls him that night from their hotel and says, “It went well, then?”

“It was amazing! And scary too. It’s such a big song… And the emotions! It was hard, but I’m excited about the end result.” He stops to take a breath, excitement evident in his voice. “Oh and then I saw you in Pizza Hut!”

“What? You saw me where?”

Zhangjing laughs. “I saw your poster, anyway. Is there anything your face can’t sell?”

“My face could sell anything to anyone,” Yanjun jokes. “Hey - you were _allowed_ to go to Pizza Hut? Congratulations!”

“Uh.” Zhangjing pauses. “Not, um, not officially, I wasn’t. So maybe don’t tell anyone else, if that’s okay with you?”

 _Ah._ Yanjun bursts into laughter. “Your secret is safe with me,”  Yanjun assures him, fake-whispering conspiratorially. “Mission: let You Zhangjing enjoy food is complete.”

Zhangjing giggles and it makes Yanjun smile to himself, his phone pressed against his ear, hot against his cheek. It’s a nice sound. It’s the sound of happiness.

Zhangjing laughs until he’s short of breath and then there’s silence on the line until he asks, “Why are you calling me? Why aren’t you speaking to the others, Lin Yanjun? Stop being anti-social.”

Yanjun’s mouth feels dry.

“Chengcheng is my roommate at the hotel tonight, but he’s disappeared.” Yanjun was glad, if he’s honest, he’s been waiting for some alone time, some peace and quiet to spend speaking to Zhangjing. In fact, he hadn’t realised how much he was looking forward to hearing Zhangjing’s voice until he’d answered the phone and a tiny thrill had run through Yanjun’s bones. “I don’t know if I should check on him, now you mention it.”

Zhangjing says, “I think he’s alright. He just put a selfie with Justin in one of the chats so they must be together.”

“He’s with Justin?” Yanjun muses. “Again? They spent all day together, giggling over stupid shit and driving Zhengting crazy. Linkai even got tired before them. And they’re never, ever, sick of each other. _Crazy."_

“It’s not crazy,” Zhangjing says. His voice has a defensive lilt to it, which makes Yanjun smile. He can picture Zhangjing’s face - curled lip and furrowed brow. “I think it’s cute-- don’t you think? They’re such close friends. They’re young and-- And I think it’s nice to have someone to rely on like that in this industry. I think it’s nice to have someone special.”

Yanjun smiles to himself again. “You’re right,” he says. He thinks about how much he relies on Zhangjing. He hopes that Zhangjing knows that he can rely on Yanjun too whenever he needs to. “It’s weird without you,” he admits.

Zhangjing says, “You aren’t _without_ me. I’m right here.”

“The other end of the phone is too far away.” Yanjun rolls onto his side and looks out at the dark city outside of the hotel room window

Zhangjing laughs. “Just how close do you need me to be?” His voice is uncertain, like he’s testing out waters they haven’t quite crossed.

“Right here next to me, taking up half the room in the bed,” Yanjun replies. He takes a breath, then, stares out at the night sky. “You know you’re my special person, don’t you?”

“Lin Yanjun, don’t tease me,” Zhangjing scolds. “I’m going to cry if you’re unnecessarily nice to me. Such a tease.”

“I’m not teasing you,” Yanjun tells him, and he really isn’t, even if it’s coming out that way. “And you shouldn’t cry when I’m not there to comfort you.”

Zhangjing lets out an exasperated breath. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he accuses.

Yanjun thinks he might be right, maybe he’s going to far and saying too much, being too honest. But it feels good and it’s all true, so he doesn’t stop.

“Fan Chengcheng came out with the funniest thing a couple of weeks ago,” he says. It’s been playing on his mind like a little mantra, even if it is just something dumb Chengcheng had said with his stomach in mind. ”He said that your heart can be in many things at once, that it’s okay for it to be. He said his heart was in a burger _and_ fries at the same time.”

There’s a rustle on the line and Yanjun can imagine Zhangjing curled up under his old blankets from home, trying to work out what on earth he’s listening to. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Now _I_ don’t know what you’re saying. What’s this about burgers?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Yanjun laughs. “I’m saying… I’m saying sorry, for all the weirdness after the show ended. For bringing it up when you were moving on from it. I’m letting you know that you don’t need to worry about me because I’ve figured things out, and I’m happy. And you make me happy.” That seems to sum it all up quite nicely.

“Are you drunk or something?” Zhangjing asks. And, then, more startled, “Wait, is this a prank? Is this call recorded? Lin Yanjun?”

Yanjun just laughs again, giddy with how much he’s allowed himself to say. His heart beats in his ears, and the longing is there again, but it’s different tonight. “No this is a private call,” he says, and clicks his tongue. “I should go and shower before I sleep.”

“Sure,” Zhangjing replies. He sounds hesitant and his voice is far away. “Sleep well, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Yanjun promises. He adds, “Don’t let any ghosts get you,” in a teasing tone before he ends the call, Zhangjing shrieking curses at him as he does.

 

 

 

 

 

They’re in the waiting room before their next fan-meet, strewn around the room haphazardly, to their stylists’ concern. Linkai is playing music on his phone, half falling asleep in the corner and it’s the most still that Yanjun has seen him in weeks.

He points it out to Ziyi who smiles and then leans his own head back against the wall, before realising his hair is already done and sitting up straight quickly. Xukun reaches out a hand without even looking, to pat the back of Ziyi’s hair back down, and Yanjun thinks about the way Zhangjing would always fix his hair when he was next to him back on the show, fussing over him with an unfocused gaze, pretty and distracted.

Linong, who is sitting next to him, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, laughs suddenly, and it almost makes Yanjun jump.

“What’s so funny, Nongnong?” he asks Linong and peers over to where he is holding his phone. “Are you playing a game?”

Linong looks up. “Oh, no! It’s just Zhangjing.”

“Oh.” Yanjun hesitates, because he doesn’t want to pry, but he knows that it’ll eat him up if he’s left wondering. “Doing what?”

“Just sharing stupid photos with us. You know, ugly memes.” He laughs again as another image loads on his screen, and Yanjun feels petulant, annoyed that he’s out of the loop, even if it is always so nice to see his Nongnong looking genuinely worry-free, after what he had gone through a few months back. “He’s probably sent them to you as well.”

The next night, when it’s almost midnight and they’re finally back at the dorm, he calls Zhangjing and spends ten minutes talking about Zhengting trying to play the ballon popping game with Wenjun without dying from their proximity, before he gets to the point. “I saw Linong’s phone yesterday. Why don’t you put those memes in _our_ chat?” He asks. “You should send them to me too.”

“No way!” Zhangjing says.

“Why not?” Yanjun asks. He settles back against the pillows on his bed. He likes hearing Zhangjing’s voice, he always has.

“Because I look ugly.”

Yanjun wrinkles his forehead. It doesn’t make sense. “But you’ll send them to Linong and Zhengting and whoever else?” He presses.

“I guess so,” Zhangjing replies.

“So why not me?”

“Because I look ugly,” Zhangjing repeats, as if he doesn’t want to have to say it again. “And I don’t want them on your phone.”

“Right…” Yanjun pretends to get it.

“I just want you to like me,” Zhangjing adds in a quieter voice: uncertain, nervous.

Yanjun forgets to reply, at first. Thinks, _oh_ , and wonders if maybe he’d been hoping for that answer, deep down. It’s been like that a lot, lately: Yanjun trying to figure out the meaning underneath the things Zhangjing says and wondering if he might think of Yanjun as more than a best friend too.

“Well, firstly, Chaoze has probably sent me them all already, and secondly, I’ve seen you asleep, all drooling and shit, and after work-outs with your beetroot red face,” he points out. “Those memes are nothing. I still like you, always.”

Zhangjing says, “You still… _Like_ me?”

“Yeah, I mean, I like you as in… Yeah.” He swallows, because he doesn’t want to make up an excuse or a lie, there is no point. Zhangjing would only see through him. “I do.”

The line is silent, and Yanjun is about to crack a joke to diffuse the tension running through his body when Zhangjing says, defiant, “Wait a minute, I do _not_ drool when I sleep!”

It’s kind of weird, Yanjun thinks, when he wakes up the next morning and heads to shower, that despite the fact he’s now pretty much certain that he and Zhangjing feel the same way about each other, it’s doesn’t feel like some sort of big revelation. It doesn’t feel as though their relationship has shifted, it’s just-- clearer now. Like a cloud of haze has lifted from his vision. It’s nice.

When he gets out of the shower, he has a text from Zhangjing that reads, _Woke up with no drool on my face. It’s official, you’re a liar and must take responsibility for your actions._

He just sends back a selfie of him looking smug, taken in the bathroom mirror, still only wearing his towel, which he may or may not have purposely pushed further down his hips than he’d usually wear it.

Zhangjing doesn’t reply and Yanjun wonders what he’s doing instead of sending him an over-emoji filled, silly, reply back. And then he thinks too much about it; his mind wandering deeper and deeper down an avenue he’d long put to the back of his mind because it seemed inappropriate to dwell on it - to wonder just how attractive your best friend finds you.

But he’s wondering it now, and he’s wondering why exactly he even sent that photo, and it distracts him for half of the day, a stirring low in his belly that he tries to ignore until they’re back in the dorm and he can lock himself in the bathroom and think about it properly.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun lifts weights until his muscles start to burn and the neck of his tank top is a semi-circle of sweat. He’s lost weight recently and he wants to gain his strength back a little. Plus, it feels good to distract himself from wondering if he’d gone too far in sending Zhangjing that photo earlier.

How far counts as too far with your more-than-best-friend, he has no idea, so he pushes it from his mind and finishes his gym session on the punch bag, before taking an obligatory post-workout selfie for the fans.

When he gets back to the dorms, he wonders if anyone else is there at all. It’s so quiet that his footsteps sound like thuds. Xukun is away filming something, and Ziyi is seeing the BBT guys. Linong had texted earlier to say he was going to the salon, and he guesses Linkai must have gone too, if Linong’s Weibo is anything to go by. Justin and Chengcheng could be anywhere, causing any sort of mischief, Yanjun has no idea, but they certainly can’t be home or there would definitely be more noise.

He is still getting used to having to keep track of the lives of the other members. He’s done it for a long time with the other Banana trainees, but this feels different, like he’s been thrown into a brand new family and he sometimes can’t keep up with them.

Yanjun heads towards the kitchen to get an energy drink from their stock in the fridge, and notices the pair on the sofa as he passes by, although they hardly look like two people at all. Zhengting and Wenjun look like one and the same; neither one of them actually ends, they just morph into the other, like one fluid being. Zhengting is sitting at one end of the sofa with his back straight, the dancer in all of his graceful glory, and Wenjun is lying down in a long line, legs long enough to hang over the arm of the sofa. His head is in Zhengting’s lap, eyes closed peacefully, and it’s so intimate that Yanjun feels bad for interrupting them.

Zhengting looks up from where he is playing on his phone and says, “We wondered where you’d got to.”

“Did you?” Yanjun stops and hovers nearby, as though there is a forcefield stopping him from getting any closer.

Wenjun opens his eyes and says, “Oh hey. We guessed you were at the gym, but we weren’t sure.”

“You were right,” Yanjun pulls at his loose tank top, still damp from sweat. “I should have invited you both, sorry. I didn’t think. I should have thought.”

Zhengting tilts his head, staring at him knowingly. “You have a lot on your mind at the moment.”

“Don’t we all though?” Yanjun says, because they _do._ Just because he’s been a lovesick idiot and apparently Zhengting (and maybe Xukun, and Ziyi, and - thinking about it - everyone else in the damn group) has noticed, doesn’t give him the right to be ignorant of the people around him, too. “It’s no excuse.”

“True.” Zhengting smiles. “But you’re forgiven anyway.”

Wenjun sits himself up and rolls his shoulders to loosen his limbs, stiff after lying down for so long. “Do you want to watch TV with us?” he asks, a similarly intense gaze to his features. He really is very handsome, Yanjun thinks. They both are: sitting shoulder to shoulder now with bare faces and unstyled hair, looking like something off the cover of a magazine. It’s cool, he thinks. He’ll have to tell Zhangjing.

“We could put a movie on?” Wenjun adds.

Yanjun almost says no - it’s instinct really, to retreat, to spend time alone - but they’re looking at him, and they’ve _separated_ for him, the tiniest of gaps between their shoulders like a peace offering. They look at him with eyes that say, _we want to spend time with you_ and, _you are one of us too_ , and Yanjun feels so grateful for it that a lump forms in the back of his throat.

He nods. “Sounds nice,” he says. “Just let me just change out of these clothes first.”

When he comes back into the room, Zhengting’s hand is tucked underneath Wenjun’s thigh. They don’t bother to break apart this time, which seems right, like that’s how they should be, and Yanjun is part jealous, but it’s only a small part, one that he buries inside until he can text Zhangjing later and feel close to his own special person again, even if just through a phone.

The movie that they watch is good, but the company is even better, and Yanjun feels like maybe this is how things are mean to be, at least at the moment.

That night, he sleeps better than he has in weeks.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun finds out with less than a ten days to spare that he is to go back to Taipei for some appointments and an interview. There’ll be an afternoon free to visit home, too, which excites him and nerves him at the same time. He hasn’t seen his mother in so long; he really hopes that she is proud of him. She tells him this the little time they get to talk on the phone, but hearing it in person is going to feel so much better.

He also wonders if this might be the opportunity to spend time - alone time, the type he likes best - with Zhangjing that he’s been hoping to arise for a while now.

 _I’m going home for a couple of days,_ he posts in the Trainee18 group chat. People congratulate him, tell him he’s lucky. He waits for Zhangjing to reply, but he doesn’t.

“Did you see my message?” He asks, next time they talk on the phone. They’re doing this a lot, now. One of them calls the other and they trade stories about their day, laced with in-jokes and insults and thinly veiled flirting. It’s starting to become unbearable and Yanjun just wants to _see_ Zhangjing, wants to spend time with him, properly.

“Yes.” Zhangjing sighs. “I’m jealous to be honest.”

“You should come. We haven’t hung out in so long,” he says, and then worries that this wouldn’t be a good enough reason for Zhangjing to want to travel. “And if you come you can see your friends too.”

“I can’t just up and leave,” Zhangjing says, then exclaims, “Oh! You could kidnap me. I’ve lost more weight, I might be able to hide in your bag!”

“You aren’t that small.” Yanjun laughs. “And I’m travelling light. One bag and one human passenger, who will eat very well when we are in Taipei.”

Zhangjing makes a noise, a little whine that says, _I want to, but I can’t._

“It’ll be two nights, maximum,” Yanjun urges him. “Just-- you could ask, if you want to come, there’s no harm in asking, right?”

Zhangjing hums a response that Yanjun can’t make out. He presses further, says, “I want you to come,” because it feels important, like they can’t miss this opportunity. Like _he_ can’t miss it. He misses Zhangjing too much.

“I want to come too,” Zhangjing replies. “I really want to see you, I promise. I’ll ask, of course, I’ll ask.”

Yanjun has never wanted a plan to come together as much as he had wanted to place in Nine Percent with Zhangjing before the finale of the show. Except that plan was beyond their control, and this one can only be orchestrated by them.

He texts Zhangjing the next day - a selfie with his dimples on show and the caption, _This face will be in Taipei next weekend! -_ and hopes for the best.

 

 

 

 

 

This time around, his plan works out as he had hoped all along, and the relief is almost overwhelming. 

Zhangjing meets him at Beijing International Airport and the first thing he says is, “I can already smell hotpot.”

Yanjun laughs. “Hello, Yanjun, nice to see you, you look really good today,” he says to himself and Zhangjing swats at him with his passport. Yanjun feels almost giddy with excitement. He has some appointments that he isn’t looking forward to back in Taipei, including one with the dentist that he’s been expertly putting off for months, but all he can think about is Zhangjing curling up beside him to watch stupid videos on his phone, just like they used to when they slept in the same room every night, so he doesn’t much care about the impending dental visit.

As they stand in line to go through security, fans calling their names and taking photos from behind the barrier, Yanjun sneaks a look at Zhangjing’s face and smiles to himself. He spots one of Zhangjing’s fansites at the front of the crowd and slips around to Zhangjing’s right-hand side, so he can show off his left side to the cameras. Zhangjing gives him a curious look, but Yanjun only shrugs in response. He doesn’t quite understand why Zhangjing thinks one of his profiles is better than the other - they’re both, quite frankly, basically perfect Yanjun has always thought - but Yanjun isn’t one to pick apart other people’s quirks. He has enough of his own.

“Did you only invite me so you can hold someone’s hand when we take off?” Zhangjing asks him with a smile once they’re on the plane, the cabin attendant walking down the aisle towards them to check they’re ready to fly.

Yanjun drags his eyes away from the wings of the plane outside of the window and says, “I flew to Los Angeles and back recently, I am a seasoned flier these days, _actually."_

“Ooh, get you and your international travel.” Zhangjing raises his eyebrows and waggles them cheekily. “Mr Nine Percent.”

“Shut up, I’m not-- I’m not _bragging_ about it.” Yanjun suddenly worries that he’s said the wrong thing. The last thing he wants is to upset Zhangjing; the last thing he wants is to be the cause of Zhangjing’s unhappiness.

“I know that you aren’t, but you should be. I’m really proud of you,” Zhangjing says. “Really, I am.”

Yanjun automatically reaches out for Zhangjing’s hand when the plane starts moving regardless of what he’s said before, and Zhangjing says nothing, just accepts his hand with a small smile and a fond glance. They stay like this until long after the plane has levelled out in the air; the weight of Zhangjing’s hand in his feels like balance and the soft stroke of Zhangjing’s thumb over his skin feels like home.

Yanjun closes his eyes as they make their way to Taipei. He thinks about how being together feels so normal that it’s almost jarring. Despite the fact they haven’t been in each other’s company for more than a few hours at a time since they all packed up and left the weird, liminal space that was the Idol Producer dorms behind, Yanjun knows that his happy place will always be next to the person who is half-asleep next to him, and he is more than okay with that.

 

 

 

 

 

Zhangjing hovers near the door of the hotel room, picking up the hotel room key card and putting it down again, distractedly. He’s been ‘about to leave’ for fifteen minutes and Yanjun can tell there is something on his mind, but he doesn’t want to pry.

Finally, Zhangjing clears his throat and says, “Are you sure you don’t want to come out for dinner? We could add to the booking if you’ve changed your mind?”

Yanjun looks up from his phone and shakes his head. “No thanks, I want to stay here.”

He doesn’t want to invade on Zhangjing’s get together with his friends, like some sort of tag-along. He doesn’t _need_ to, either. Yanjun is rather fond of real time alone; it brings out the creativity in him, and he’s been itching to work on some music for a while, but it’s been impossible recently, with all of the fanmeets, photo-shoots, interviews and rehearsals, not to mention the melodramas Linong has got him into watching when they have downtime in the dorm.

“What are you going to do all evening?” Zhangjing doesn’t look convinced that leaving Yanjun in the hotel is a good idea, and it makes Yanjun smile.

“Wait for you.” He smirks.

Zhangjing pulls a face. “But seriously…”

 _“I_ am going to get an iced coffee and then I’m going to come back here and listen to music,” he says. “I might write some lyrics or something. I don’t mind a night in.”

“Oh,” Zhangjing says. He seems to be edging further back into the hotel room, as if he’s struggling to leave. “That sounds nice, actually. Very… Artistic. Very you.”

“Well, you know me, I’m a tortured soul,” Yanjun replies, grinning. “Hey-- you’re going to be late for your friends if you don’t leave now.”

Zhangjing looks at his watch. “Crap, you’re right. Okay, text me if you want me to bring food back!”

“Will do.” Yanjun maneuvers Zhangjing back towards the door and says, “Remember to eat the expensive cuts of meat first so you’re not too full up to enjoy them!”

Zhangjing laughs. “Of course,” he says, opening the door. “See you later.”

Yanjun is already looking forward to it, not that he’ll admit it, just in case Zhangjing refuses to go and enjoy himself if he knows.

 

 

 

 

 

A hand on his shoulder jolts Yanjun out of his music-induced daze and he looks up to face his attacker with a barely disguised yelp.

Zhangjing giggles as Yanjun pauses the song playing on his phone and removes his earbuds.  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist doing that,” he says and covers his smile with his hand.

He doesn’t look particularly sorry.

“What would you have done if I’d had a heart attack?” Yanjun teases. He sets his phone on the bedside table, eyes narrowing as he notes the slight sway in Zhangjing’s stance beside the bed. “Oh wait, are you drunk?”

“Not really, but I _could_ have been. The guys have gone onto a bar downtown.” Zhangjing sits down on the edge of the bed, steadying himself with splayed hands. “I didn’t go with them.”

Yanjun moves towards the bedside table a little to give him room. He could have sat on his own bed near the window, but Yanjun is kind of glad he chose not to. “Why didn’t you go with them?” he asks. “Weren’t you having fun?”

“Of course it was fun, I had a really good night.” Zhangjing blinks slowly. He _is_ drunk, Yanjun can tell. This is what happens, he thinks, when people in their position go for dinner and drinks with friends who aren’t in the same industry - it’s easy to forget that you aren’t living the same lives, that you haven’t drank more than a few units in the last few months on your strict diet of practise, diet meals and energy drinks (plus one secret pizza hut) and that being in your early twenties is a whole different universe for other people. “But I had to come back.”

“You did?” Yanjun tries not to laugh at Zhangjing, because he looks incredibly earnest right now and it’s making his stomach do flips that he can’t pass off as hunger.

Zhangjing nods. “I had to. Because I left you for, like, three hours and it already felt like too many.” He sighs, wistful almost.

“We’ve been apart for much longer than that,” Yanjun points out. “Like, up until yesterday, for example.”

“But not by choice, right?” Zhangjing checks, as if the answer could ever be anything other than a resounding no.

Yanjun smiles and shakes his head sharply. “Of course not. Why do you think I asked you to come here with me in the first place?” He asks, and Zhangjing pauses, forehead creased, as though he’s thinking really hard about the answer.

“So you weren’t lonely on the flight?” he suggests. “Holding your own hand probably doesn’t have quite the same effect.”

Yanjun just gives Zhangjing his most unimpressed stare, though it’s difficult not to smile at him.

“I’m _joking._ ” Zhangjing laughs, but he doesn’t go to give any other answers. Instead he sits there wearing half-lidded eyes and happy smile, his hair curling against his forehead from the heat of the night. Finally, he takes a long breath in and closes his eyes. “I think I might be drunk.”

Yanjun gives in and smiles, then, because Zhangjing isn’t looking. He revels in his proximity to this real, tangible, Zhangjing, reaches out to wrap a hand around his wrist and says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Zhangjing’s eyelids flutter open and he murmurs, “What?”

“Nothing. Are you going to be able to sleep without your blankets?”

Zhangjing nods. “I’ll sleep fine because I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

Yanjun smiles and says, “Yeah, yeah, you do,” and he means it completely.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun wakes up first, and he showers until the tiny hotel-room soap has almost turned into nothing. It’s not as though he’s putting off facing Zhangjing, but part of him is a little apprehensive about leaving the bathroom because their weekend together is half over already, and Yanjun can almost make himself believe that it can’t end if he never gets out of the shower.

When the tips of his fingers have turned wrinkly he accepts defeat (water: 1, Yanjun: 0) and heads back into the room. Zhangjing has his eyes closed and is lying very still, but he’s put on his hoodie so he must have been up when Yanjun was in the shower.

“Are you hungover?” Yanjun asks.

“No,” Zhangjing replies, but his eyes remain closed, and he winces in pain after he speaks, so Yanjun guesses he is at least a little dehydrated.

He throws on his clothes with a warning not to look, although he says it out of courtesy more than anything (the way you say sorry on autopilot after knocking into someone in the street, even if it’s long after they’ve passed you and can’t even hear the apology.) Zhangjing has seen him half-dressed countless times, it’s hard to live in such close quarters and avoid the regular intimacy of everyday life.

He leaves his towel draped over his head and shuffles around in his suitcase to look for painkillers and then throws the packet he finds at Zhangjing. It lands next to him on the bed.

Zhangjing’s opens his eyes in surprise.

“Catch this,” Yanjun calls and chucks him a bottle of water from the mini-bar fridge. That lands next to the packet of pills. “Take two of the painkillers and drink all of that water. It’s ice cold.”

“I’m not hungover,” Zhangjing protests, but he sits up and does as he is asked, and then gives Yanjun a sheepish smile. “I guess I’m just… Just a  bit fragile.”

Yanjun smirks at him, but doesn’t argue. He has more important topics on his mind. He bends over and towels his hair roughly before opening the balcony door and stepping out to hang the towel over it to dry.

“You didn’t answer me yesterday,” he says when he steps back into the room, pulling the balcony door closed. “When I asked why you think I wanted you to come here.”

Zhangjing stretches his arms over his head and yawns. “I did answer you.”

“Not seriously.” Yanjun shakes his head. “And I-- I really want to know what you think.”

Zhangjing drops his arms into his lap and pulls his knees up to his chest. “I-- I don’t know. Because I’m brilliant company? Because we haven’t seen each other for a while?” He looks down, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down further over his hands and fidgeting with the cuffs. “Because we’re, uh... “

“We’re what?”

“Friends?” He looks up and his gaze is intense, just like it was after the finale, when Yanjun felt like he’d fallen into the wrong world and nothing seemed right. This is different though. Still scary, just in a different way - as though, depending on how their conversation continues, things might fall into place after all.

“Are we?” Yanjun asks. “Are we friends?”

Zhangjing opens his mouth and closes it again, eyes roaming the scene outside of the glass door behind Yanjun. “I don’t… You’re so…” He sighs. “It’s confusing.”

“What is?”

“Us.” Their eyes meet again. “You said you liked me, on the phone that time and I thought-- sometimes I wonder...  I want you to like me. Not as a friend.”

Yanjun smiles and something in the air splits, tension dissipating so quickly Yanjun almost gets whiplash. He laughs because he can’t help it, because his heart is hammering away in his chest, and he can’t believe they’re having this conversation right now, in a hotel room in Taipei.

Zhangjing huffs out a breath and says, “Hey, you’re enjoying this too much! It’s not fair, I’m not saying anything else.”

“I’m not enjoying anything!” Yanjun protests and lets out another laugh at the indignance on Zhangjing’s face. “Well, maybe a little bit, but only because you’re-- you… Look, now I’m nervous and it’s your fault!”

“It’s _your_ fault, you invited me here!” Zhangjing cries. He kicks his bare feet against the bedframe and crosses his arms over his chest. “I said my piece, so you have to keep talking.”

Yanjun obliges him, because he’s right and it’s only fair, and he wants to say it anyway. It’s important, he wants Zhangjing to know how special he is. And in a day they’ll be flying home, back to their separate lives, and they’ll speak on the phone and send funny texts, and they’ll ignore the fact they are clearly more than friends for another however many months. And that’s not okay.

“I realised a while ago that I don’t think of you as a friend anymore. Maybe I never did.” He shrugs. “You’re more than that, more important than that. That’s why I wanted to see you so badly.”

Zhangjing’s shoulders relax, his pout too, and then he’s laughing as well, hands over his face until Yanjun crosses the space between them, pulls his hands away from his eyes and says, “You Zhangjing, don’t you laugh at me unless you want me to tease you more.”

But Zhangjing only laughs even more, and it's perfect.

 

 

 

 

 

Zhangjing has a scheduled interview about his new OST for a local magazine over lunchtime, so he has to dress and leave not long after their conversation, and Yanjun spends the afternoon with his parents, who fuss over the weight he’s lost and don’t ask too many questions about debut. He’s grateful for it; the quietness of their support. They’re private people and they worry about him a lot, he knows that. He has long accepted that they’re never going to fully understand the industry he chose to join, and that’s alright.

Zhangjing is lying on Yanjun’s bed, watching television with the sound off, when Yanjun returns to the hotel.

“Hi.” He can’t help but smile when he enters the room. “What are you watching?”

“I’m not watching it really, I’ve been doing vocal practice,” he says eyes on the ceiling. “And thinking.”

“Uhuh?” Yanjun hangs his jacket over the back of the desk-chair, taking his change out of the pocket first and dropping it in a pile on the top of the desk.

When he turns back to the bed, Zhangjing is looking at him. “What do we do now?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“If we aren’t friends,” Zhangjing explains. “Do we-- do we decide what we _are_?”

Yanjun considers an answer and settles on, “Do you want to?”

“I don’t mind. I’m happy just like this,” Zhangjing says, and hearing Zhangjing say that gives Yanjun a giddy feeling.

“Me too.” Yanjun opens the camera app on his phone and takes a photo of Zhangjing before he can protest. “It’s of your left side,” he points out so Zhangjing doesn’t demand it’s deleted.

Zhangjing says, “Whatever. Come and let’s take one together,” and holds out his hand, beckoning until Yanjun approaches. He lies down next to Zhangjing, shuffles a little down the bed until they’re at the same height, and holds the phone up above their heads. Zhangjing makes him choose a hazy filter, all muted colours and soft lines to their features, and says, “This one suits us.”

They take a few photos, some smiling, some serious-faced, one which is blurry because Zhangjing is laughing at Yanjun for flirting with the camera. Yanjun thinks that it might be his favourite.

Zhangjing takes his phone and zooms in on the photo. “We can’t post any of these online, they all look like we’re in bed together. We might get in trouble.”

“We aren’t posting them,” Yanjun says, taking back his phone. “They’re just for us.”

“Oh.” Zhangjing goes quiet for a while, and Yanjun adds the photos to his locked album while he remembers and deletes them from his main photo feed, even though it’s already full of similar photos of them from the past. It’s funny how different a photo can look when a relationship changes, he thinks - how tiny moments can seem a lot more intimate in a new light.

“Thank you,” Zhangjing says after a while of silence. “For persuading me to come on this trip.”

“I was worried you didn’t want to come at first,” Yanjun admits. “I thought maybe it would be a burden to ask.”

“Are you kidding? You could probably persuade me to do _anything_.” Zhangjing laughs. “I wandered into Pizza Hut because your face was on a poster outside. I was meant to go back to the dorms and eat my boring meal, but I just-- blindly went inside!”

Yanjun laughs. “You really miss me that much, huh?”

“Yeah.” Zhangjing smiles. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Yanjun feels a little stupid for dwelling on it all so much - on the results of the show, on the fact that Zhangjing wasn’t there, enjoying debut with him, on his own longing that had confused him so much. He needn’t have dwelled on it, he knows now. Zhangjing is stronger than jealousy and bitterness and disappointment. He’s stronger than _Yanjun,_ probably, when all is said and done. He’s Yanjun’s strength too, in a way.

He’s glad that he figured it all out eventually, and that Zhangjing is still here, right here, so close that Yanjun can feel the heat from his body. If they both turned their heads, there noses might touch, he thinks, and it makes him feel light headed.

“Do you want to order room-service?” Yanjun asks and Zhangjing nods, his eyes lighting up at the thought. He looks pretty.

Yanjun takes a breath. “And then do you want to make out with me until the food comes?” He asks, and hopes that he isn’t pushing his luck.

When Zhangjing nods again, his eyes are even brighter than they seemed to be before. His heart hammers in his chest and he feels fifteen again, about to kiss the prettiest girl at his friend’s birthday party, except this isn’t someone he barely knows, who is waiting for him to kiss them out of politeness and because that’s what teenagers are meant to want to do. This is the person he knows best, this is the person he can’t actually imagine life without - not ever. His more-than-best friend (whatever that means).

They call down to reception and order more food than they should. “Please allow at least twenty five minutes for the food, sir,” the concierge says at the end of the call, and Zhangjing takes the phone from Yanjun’s hand and cheerfully replies into it that they are in no rush and for the kitchen to take as long as they need, grinning happily at Yanjun as he does.

In that moment, Yanjun really wants to kiss him, and it scrambles his brain a little to know that he actually gets to do so.

Zhangjing puts down the handset and turns back around, and there’s a nervous energy in the air between them, then. Zhangjing lowers his head and says, “So?” in a soft voice. He looks up at Yanjun coyly, like he _knows_ what he’s doing and he knows it works, and it’s unfair how well it _does_ work on Yanjun. It always has, he realises. He’s always felt this way, he just hasn’t had to figure it out before, not when they saw each other all of the time and his brain didn’t have time to catch up with his heart until they weren’t together constantly anymore.

Kissing his more-than-best-friend is exhilarating and life-affirming all at once, and maybe that’s too dramatic, but whatever, he _is_ dramatic and this is amazing. Zhangjing crawls into his lap and cups his hands around Yanjun’s face, and it’s so cute he almost wants to stop and laugh with the joy of it all, but then he never ever wants to stop doing this either, so he just smiles into the kiss and deepens it as he does.  

Twenty five minutes go by far too quickly in Yanjun’s opinion.

 

 

 

 

 

Yanjun piles up the plates and trays of food once they’re finished eating, and Zhangjing takes them to the door in a neat pile to set them outside in the corridor ready to be taken away.

Being interrupted earlier had been disappointing, but when the food they’d ordered had been wheeled into the room and the smell of spices and hot meat had hit them they had been grateful for their foresight.

“I’m so glad we ordered so many dishes,” Zhangjing had clasped his hands together happily. “I’m hungry now after-- _that_.” He’d giggled then, and Yanjun had opened up the lids on all of their dishes and thanked the gods of room service that making out could be followed by noodles so quickly.

When Zhanghing walks back into the room, shuffling his feet across the floor in his hotel slippers, he covers a yawn with his hands and then apologises for it.

“What are you sorry for?” Yanjun laughs. “It’s my fault for tiring you out.” He raises an eyebrow, proud of himself for making Zhangjing blush.

“ _You_ were the one out of breath when room service knocked,” Zhangjing retorts. “Hey, do you want to watch soap operas on the local channels until it’s time for dessert?”

Yanjun wrinkles his nose. “We ordered dessert?” He doesn’t remember this, and he highly doubts he’ll be able to eat again until lunchtime tomorrow with the amount of plates they just finished off.

Zhangjing just clicks his tongue. “It’s an off-menu special,” he explains, “and I’m the chef,” and even with Zhangjing unable to keep a straight face, Yanjun doesn’t register where the conversation has headed until Zhangjing bursts into giggles.

“Since when did you get smoother than me?” He asks, pulling Zhangjing closer to his side with one arm while reaching for the television remote control with the other, and he hopes that Zhangjing gets bored of the television quickly.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s strange, Yanjun thinks, how cooling touches can take on a new edge. How a hand on his arm that once soothed can now burn, but in a good way, the _best_ way, making him want more.

Zhangjing squirms beneath him and removes his hands from their resting place on Yanjun’s arms to tug at his sweatshirt, pulling it down where it’s ridden up. “Wait, just--” he breathes, breaking their kiss.

“Just take it off if it’s not comfortable,” Yanjun says, shifting his body away a little to give Zhangjing space.

“It’s not that, it’s just…” He blinks up at Yanjun, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen. “You’re used to seeing Zhengting’s abs every day now.”

Yanjun laughs. “I don’t go around staring at Zhengting’s body every single day, though apparently you would?”

Zhangjing grins. “It’s a good body though. Better than mine.”

Yanjun rests his fingers at the hem of Zhangjing’s sweater tentatively and then when he’s sure he has permission, he slides his hand underneath and rests it on his waist. His skin is hot to the touch. “I know what you look like. I like _you_ ,” he says. “You have a good body too, I promise.”

Zhangjing pauses, still unsure. “Later. I’ll take it off later,” he decides.

“I’ll take it off for you,” Yanjun smiles. He presses a kiss to the side of Zhangjing’s face, and then another to his jaw. “I’m enjoying dessert, by the way,” he adds.

“This is nice” Zhangjing murmurs, tilting his chin up as Yanjun kisses along his jaw. He settles his hand at the back of Yanjun’s neck. “But this isn’t dessert.”

“Oh?” Yanjun leaves a pink mark against the pale skin at the side of Zhangjing’s neck.

“You’ll have to let me up and then you lie back down for me to show you what dessert is,” he says, and Yanjun’s brain doesn’t short circuit then, it definitely does when Zhangjing crawls between his legs with a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile later on and tugs down Yanjun’s jeans.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a little after nine in the morning and Yanjun is revelling in being able to sleep in for the last time in a long time ahead.

He’s woken up in a tangle of limbs, hair damp with sweat at the edges, Zhangjing under his arm. He reaches for his phone, careful not to disturb Zhangjing, and checks his notifications: two texts from his manager, fourteen notifications from the Banana group chat and fifty three from the one that Linong added him into with the other members of Nine Percent three weeks ago. Most of the messages in the group are about some joke that Justin had made the evening before and Yanjun has no idea what’s so funny, but he’s glad to see the group enjoying themselves.

He adds a message to the group that says, _looking forward to seeing you all later :)_ & Chengcheng immediately replies asking why he’s in such a good mood so early in the morning. He sends a shrug emoji back and smiles to himself.

When Zhangjing wakes up he accuses Yanjun of taking all of the blankets, and then he smiles. “We’re very lucky, aren’t we?” he says. “We have each other and we have this exciting future, and-- and we get to _sing_ every single day.”

Yanjun watches his face, content and serene. He’s happy too. Even if they don’t get to see each other as much as they used to, even if there is still a part of him that wonders what life might be like if Zhangjing had placed in the group, he _is_ happy.

“Hey,” Yanjun says, because the thought has come from nowhere, but now it’s here he wants to ask. “I’ve been thinking... Why didn’t you reply when I sent you that photo of me in the towel a couple of weeks back?”

“What?” His eyes practically pop out of his head. “I remember no photos.”

“Yes you do.”

Zhangjing acts affronted, arms crossed indignantly over his bare chest. “What are you implying, Lin Yanjun?” He asks.

“You know what I’m implying,” Yanjun says. “And you’re blushing a lot so I think I’m correct in assuming that it had the desired effect on your inability to type back.”

“I can’t even.. Stop teasing me. I really want to hurt you right now.” He groans, covering his face with the duvet. “I’ll kick you, hard.”

“Tell me you regret yesterday, that’ll hurt.” Yanjun laughs at him and removes the duvet from over Zhanghing’s face. Zhangjing has given up on being offended. Yanjun kisses him, and they both have dry lips and haven’t brushed their teeth, but it’s a small price to pay.

Zhangjing’s eyelids flutter back open after they break apart and he says, “You know I can’t say I regret it or I’d be lying, so I guess I’ll have to kick you instead.”

Yanjun accepts Zhangjing’s playful kick to the shin, and then traps his feet between his legs and sighs. “I wish I didn’t have to go to the dentist in two hours.”

“So we could stay in bed until our flight?” Zhangjing asks.

He nods. “That,” he says, “And also because I’m fucking _terrified_ of that place.”

He laughs, and Zhangjing holds his hand under the blankets and laughs with him, and even though he isn’t looking forward to getting his wisdom teeth removed, and he isn’t much looking forward to the flight, or the thirteen hour photoshoot he knows he has coming this week, Yanjun has faith that everything is working out as it has always meant to, and right now he feels at home with Zhangjing's hand in his, so that's all he can ask for.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i hope someone out there enjoyed this even a little. <3 find me @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/lilacsui) if you'd like to chat/yell/send me memes :)!


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